Second chances, same choices

The Bachelorette isn’t on Netflix.   Which is why I hadn’t seen an episode since the first season a decade or more ago.   And then a year ago, when Chris Soules became the man, I didn’t love being left out of the post rose office talk.  So I borrowed a friend’s Hulu login and joined the party.  And now I just can’t help myself.

Each season is gifted/plagued with a handful of seemingly genuine fellas, a few that seem to be misplaced and, of course, the requisite asshat.  JoJo may have been the most adorable and authentic bachelorette I’ve ever seen.  She had the usual misfits, some adorable ex athletes, and Chad.  Look, I’m a total sucker for beards and biceps but even I have no use for a tool of that variety.  Thankfully, with a little help from the other fellas, JoJo called him out and sent him home with all his protein.  Get him, girl.

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I see pineapples

June 20, 2016

Remember that time I gushed all over all things southern?  If you don’t, you can catch yourself up here to better understand my love affair with the south.  While honeymooning with #3 in Charleston and Savannah, I noticed a plethora of pineapples.  Pineapple flags hung on porches and peered out front room windows.  Plaster pineapples were focal points in archways while those of the copper and concrete variety sat atop fences, walls, and garden gates.  They welcomed you on doormats, knockers, and address plates.  And for those of you who haven’t noticed, there is a brilliant and beautiful pineapple fountain centered in Charleston’s famous Waterfront park.  I was both fascinated and smitten with the abundance and repetition of this delectable fruit.  Thanks to modern technology and Google, I quickly educated myself on the historical relevance of the Pineapple in Colonial America.

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The Poop Burrito

It’s been one week since what would have been my 5th wedding anniversary.  As was expected, the day, and the days that followed, came and went with no acknowledgement of that day or the 5 years since.  Except for Facebook.  Facebook is this really exceptional time keeper, reminding you exactly what you were doing on this day x many years ago.  So basically every day this week, FB diligently reminded me about the tristate adventure that was my honeymoon 5 years ago.  Since DDay, I haven’t been a big user of this social media platform.  I’ve stayed clear of constant reminders of the life I was living.  I did not want to catch glimpses of fun family outings, declarations of love made by adoring husbands, squishy new babies wrapped tightly in between two blissful parents, former family members who I now simply observed through social media and, of course, diet updates, weight loss photos and gym selfies.  So basically Facebook is an asshole and one big trigger. Read More